


Snapshots

by DragonDancer5150



Category: Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDancer5150/pseuds/DragonDancer5150
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange and inexplicable things happen sometimes.  This one takes the energon cake. Wheeljack’s sparkbonded to a middle-aged woman who has spent her life writing fictions but never thought she’d LIVE one.  Non-sexual canon x OC (non-Sue self-insert) – written in jest and as an exploration.  G1 cartoon continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Small Problem

Author’s Note: Hopefully this will be as comedic as intended instead of _just_ a horrific “bad!fic” with a blatant self-insert.  In any case, you have been warned.  Written half as a self-challenge and half because this ridiculous idea wouldn’t leave me alone for the _life_ of me after one of those “getting to know you” question memes that go around.  The notable degree of OOC-ness in ‘Jack is deliberate, will wear off in a day or so, and will make sense by the end, I promise – it’s _not_ his fault!  XD

Disclaimer – “Transformers” and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers.  I get no monetary benefit from this.  My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

 

“Snapshots”  
by DragonDancer5150

 

Chapter 1 – A Small Problem

 

“Optimus Prime?  We, um . . . I think we’ve got a problem.”

Optimus shifted from the console on his desk to turn a questioning look down on Bumblebee.  _‘We’ve got a problem’_ brought directly to him usually prompted a great deal more alarm – and far less raw _confusion_ – in a mech than the Minibot espionage agent was showing.  Before he could comment, though, the roar of a high-performance engine reached his audios from the corridor outside.  _Well, that narrows it down at least somewhat_ , the Autobot commander thought with a sigh.  He recognized the pitch of a racing engine, which meant Jazz, Wheeljack, or Mirage.  Of the three-

Wheeljack’s white form streaked into the room, skidding to a stop.  “Prime!  Hey, I got someone I wantcha ta meet.”  He opened his driver’s side door and, to Optimus’s surprise, a female human in what he guessed to be her mid-thirties climbed out, looking a little shaken.  She slung a backpack up on her shoulder and clutched the handle of a walking cane in her other hand, leaning on it as she stepped away from the Lancia Stratos  to allow room to transform without having to be told – humans normally had to be reminded the first few times.  She yelped softly when, once fully in root-mode, the engineer scooped her up in his hands to show to Optimus.

“Her name’s Beth.  She’s from San Diego and she’s divorced – well, she _was_ – and she was just coming back from Las Vegas visiting her brother and his partner but her car broke down last night, but that’s okay, because I found her this mornin’ an’ . . . an’ she’s funny an’ she’s smart an’ beautiful an’-”

And the energetic engineer rambled on with a few other flattering adjectives that Optimus tuned out for an astro-second as he focused on the girl.  Beth had started out lightly blushing at being picked up and might have been about to introduce herself when Wheeljack interrupted her.  Optimus watched her go from flustered to mortified, bright-red face burying into both hands at “beautiful”, hard enough that he feared for the glasses she wore now caught in between.  The Prime was about to halt Wheeljack’s enthusiastic gushing when the girl did so for him. 

“ _Wheeljack!_ ” she suddenly cried, head snapping up to pin something close to a glare on the mech.  Her tone, sharp and exasperated, was the kind that one used to “finally” get someone’s attention after trying a few times more gently first.  Except that she hadn’t spoken aloud until that point.

The engineer flinched, gaze apologetic as he looked down at her.  “Heh, sorry, love.”  He shifted her gently in his hands, freeing one to brush large, careful fingers over her head and down her back in an affectionate gesture.

_Love?_ Optimus thought, alarm starting to set in.  For all the time that he had known Wheeljack, he had never known the mech to show even passing _interest_ in another, not in that respect.  He looked down at the girl again.  “My name is Optimus Prime.  I . . . apologize for the behavior of my engineer.  You are unhurt?”

Beth looked up at him, seeming just as bemused by everything as he felt.  “Um . . . I-I’m really honored to meet you, sir.  Thank you.  And no, I’m fine – yeah, but that’s from sleeping in my car all night, ‘Jack.”  The sudden interruption was directed at the engineer.  “I’ll be fine, promise.”  She turned back to Optimus.  “Just . . . ”  She glanced up at Wheeljack.  “Either I’m dreaming . . . or _he’s_ got a serious glitch.  Or . . . we both do.”

“It’s not a glitch, love.  It’s called a sparkbond.”  Wheeljack was so patient – and so happy – in saying it.

“ _Sparkbond?_ ” Optimus and Bumblebee chorused in matching shock.

“What . . . but . . . how . . . _how is that even possible?_ ” Bumblebee sputtered.

Beth flinched back, hands up.  “I-I don’t know!”  There was a note of _‘I didn’t do it!’_ in her tone.

Wheeljack shrugged, visibly careful that the motion didn’t jar the human.  “I dunno either . . . but it’s neat, isn’t it?  I think it’s great!  An’ Beth’s perfect for me.  Her dad’s an engineer too an-”

“’Jack…”  That one was a desperate _‘please don’t start’_ tone.  She certainly sounded like she knew the engineer better than she should for having just met him.

Optimus shook his head.  “Wheeljack, go to Med-bay.  Tell Ratchet that you’re to have a complete diagnostic.  I want _everything_ checked out.  Especially your spark chamber.”  If his spark had been tampered with somehow…

“Okay!” the engineer chirped, then turned on his heel to head out, tucking the human to his chest up by one shoulder.  “You’ll love Ratchet.  He’s my best friend.  We’ve known each other since forever.”

The engineer turned a corner in the hallway, his voice fading as he went, and Bumblebee looked up at Optimus.

“Sparkbonded?  With a _human_?”

The little scout didn’t seem completely adverse to the idea, per se – one of _his_ best friends these days was a human, after all – but the idea of being actually bonded to one . . . first of all, how could that possibly even _work_?

Optimus didn’t know either, but he intended to find out.  “Bumblebee, go find Beth’s car, then scout the whole area between it and here.  Take Hound with you.  If you find anything at all out of the ordinary, report it.”

“Sure thing.”  Bumblebee nodded and headed out.

Optimus turned back to his desk, report forgotten as he comm’d the Med-bay.  “Ratchet, I’ve just sent Wheeljack to go see you.  I think we’ve got a small problem…”

 

8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8

 

Beth leaned back against surprisingly comfortable metal – not hot but pleasantly warm, the thrum of workings and _life_ within palpable from her shoulder clear to her soul.

That . . . was probably the sparkbond talking.  _If that’s not a purple thought_ , she mused with a frown, _it’s at least a strong lilac_.

Ever since the giant robots had woken in Southern California so many months ago, some wreaking havoc and others obviously trying to stop them, Beth had wanted a chance to get to meet at least one of the ones calling themselves Autobots.  Hell, who _didn’t_?  But the federal government had declared the area surrounding the mechs’ spaceship as strictly off-limits to any unauthorized personnel.  Which pretty much meant everyone.  Not that Beth could blame them.  The giants didn’t need pesky humans invading their ship, getting in the way of their work, or worse, trying to capture one of them for study like a new toy to take apart and put back together at their leisure.

But when her car had broken down last night, she’d been unable to resist.  She’d turned off the I-15 to the 58, aiming to visit a friend in Tehachapi before heading home, but then she’d taken a wrong turn at some point, and when the car quit, she didn’t know _where_ she was.  Until she got out and walked around a little bit, spotting the end of the mountain range in the distance.  Under the light of a full moon in a clear sky, even in the dark, it was impossible to mistake the ass-end of the Autobot’s spaceship sticking out of the mountain’s base.  With her cell phone dead and nothing else out here for miles that she knew of, that might just be her best bet.  She’d known better than to wander the woods at night, so she’d slept in her car – uncomfortably even if she _hadn’t_ been excited at the prospect of getting to meet the giants at last – and set out in the morning, thankful that it was late autumn.  Summer in this semi-arid landscape would have gotten unbearable in a hurry.

Apparently, she learned later, it was a common practice of the Autobot’s chief mechanical engineer to go for early-morning drives on the access roads around their base.  He’d run across her – almost ran _over_ her! – on one of those roads, and it was love at first sight.

Well, for him, anyway.

She’d felt something, though she couldn’t have said what.  It was jolting and invasive and powerful . . . and had left her hearing and feeling things that weren’t her own.  Beth was an avid fantasy reader and fan-fiction author, so she wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with the concepts of empathy and telepathy.  She’d just never thought she’d actually experience any such things herself, let alone shared with a giant, alien mechanoid who was older than the entire history of her very species.

Okay, she needed to just not think about that.  It was too weird.

_~It’s okay, love.  We’ll work somethin’ out.~_

Wheeljack. 

She had learned the names of a few of the mechs from news reports on TV – Optimus Prime, Megatron, Starscream – and had seen this one on occasion, though she’d never caught his name.  She’d learned that and so much more in an instant.

She turned in his palm, looking up at the massive face gazing down at her.  She thought she should have been at least nervous, if not terrified, to be at the mercy of such a huge being.  She was, after all, being carried at a height some two stories off the ground.  In his hands, she was the about the size of a Barbie or similar doll in her own.  If he should move wrong or, God forbid, drop her even by accident, he could do her a great deal of damage without even trying, without even meaning to.

_~I won’t.  I promise.  You’re safe.  I won’t let anythin’ happen to ya.~_

She believed that.  Whether it was the way he carried her, the feel of his spark in her chest, or just a compulsion of the bond, she believed him.

On a whim – or maybe another compulsion – she put down her backpack and cane, climbed to her feet, shifted to set one knee on his shoulder, and reached up, brushing a hand across the front surface of his vocal flange.  It was cool to the touch, and smooth but with enough texture that her hand didn’t just glide like it would have across finished metal.  It was something almost more like Plexiglas.

He shivered a bit at her touch, the sensation vibrating across the bond as well.  His flanges were highly sensitive – she knew that without understanding how she did – and he didn’t let just anyone touch them, but he let her.

Compulsion or not, the engineer really was a sweet person, and she could see herself getting to know and like him well enough, plus the others who were here, whom the engineer loved as family.  She was glad to know that the behemoth robots were capable of such emotions . . . even if it was more than a little disconcerting to have such a strong one as outright, romantic love pinned squarely on her.  But from what she had learned of him, she really did like him, and she figured she’d enjoy this for as long as she could, until their medic Ratchet figured out what was wrong.  Shifting around, she sat on his shoulder, her back lightly resting on his flange, and tucked her shoulder and head against what would have been the side of his jaw if he’d had one.

And suddenly a thought hit her that made her drop her face into her hands again.  She felt Wheeljack’s questioning glance.

_~Who’s Puck?~_

That was it.  Ludicrous as it sounded, that had to be it.  She’d turned out to have a power like in that movie “Inkheart”.  Bethany ‘Silvertongue’ Sanders.  _Ugh, that even_ sounds _like a Sue-name, doesn’t it?_

_~A what?~_

_~Never mind.~_

She had loaned her brother her copy of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_ a few months ago, and he’d given it back to her yesterday.  Before trying to go to sleep last night, she’d been reading _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.  Aloud.

She snuggled a little closer into the corner of Wheeljack’s mouthbands and flange, pulling her knees up, as they reached another room.  She couldn’t read the Cybertronian glyphs on the door, but she knew from Wheeljack that they read “Medical Bay”.

Just before the door closed behind them, Beth thought she heard – right on the edge of hearing – an echo of impish laughter.

 

*****************************************************************************

 

Author’s Note: The question, given to me by a fellow Transformers fan friend, had been this: “ _You wake up tomorrow to find yourself bonded to a Cybertronian. Any continuity, any faction... who is your new bondmate?_ ”  My answer: “ _Bonded? That’s basically saying “married, with telepathy/empathy” right? Probably either Wheeljack or Bumblebee (G1, of course). Or . . . you know . . . whatever poor sap Puck used the rest of his love-flower juice on after he was done messing with Lysander and that bunch, and I just happened to be the first person the unfortunate idiot spotted upon waking. (LOL Shakespeare reference ftw?)_ ”  Because really, I couldn’t see it happening any other way.  Why in the HELL would a Cybertronian take notice of me – however much I fangirl him – let alone fall in love and be bonded (not that it should even be possible).  But then, the idea bit and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it.  >,o  So . . . I did.  XD

What’s more, this was originally written as a one-shot but . . . I’ve decided to continue this exploration.  Just for fun.  I wrote the above a few months ago, back in August.  I’ve since had snippets of ideas hit me, just silly fun stuff to play with and see where they went or how they’d play out.  This won’t be a fic with a plotline.  Just a series of one-shots, almost slice-of-life sort of stuff I’ll upload as I think of and write them – hence the title.  I have two or three I’m hoping to get written and uploaded in the next week or so.  Hope you guys get as much of a kick out of my dumb silliness as I do.  :grins:


	2. Adjusting

Author’s Note: Okay, the lighter stuff should start after this.  I just wanted to lay this foundation first. Then things can start getting fun and funny again.  Hopefully.  XD  Will be for me, anyway – stands yet to be seen what anyone else thinks.  And MAN this should not have been so hard or taken so long to write.  Jeez.  But then, life DID keep getting in the way, so...

Also, Sakon76 – this is for you, BB!  :HEARTS!:

Disclaimer – “Transformers” and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers.  I get no monetary benefit from this.  My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

 

“Snapshots”  
by DragonDancer5150

 

Chapter 2 – Adjusting

 

“You’re leaving?”

Ratchet saw the human, Beth, look up at him and shrug. 

“I can’t just _stay_ here, can I, Ratchet?”  By her tone and a faint hesitation at the end, it was a literal question as much as a point.

Ratchet vented a sigh from his cooling fans.

It had been two days since Optimus had told him about the “small problem” Wheeljack had developed, his best friend showing up at his door a breem later with a human stranger on his shoulder settled as comfortably as if she’d always been there.

It shouldn’t have been possible.  The physiologies were just too different, the energy fields and patterns absolutely incompatible.  It was certainly feasible for bonded sparks to be separated without it being the result of – or resulting _in_ – the death of one or the other involved, but it was a delicate surgery, the bond simply not _meant_ to be broken once formed.  Sparkbonding, while not uncommon, was by no means something to be undertaken without considerable thought.  Especially in wartime.

Which was why the medic had been forced to periodically put down his tools while checking out his best friend the other day – the fact that this wasn’t his (or the human’s) doing was the _only_ reason Wheeljack didn’t get at least a good knock upside the head for stupid carelessness.

The end truth was . . . there was nothing Ratchet could do.  As with any other human, Beth’s bioelectrical aura was palpable, a featherlight brush of energy.  The field was deathly weak by Cybertronian standards but undeniably there.  The medic could scan and measure the currents of bioelectrical energy in her body . . . but he couldn’t _do_ anything with them.  She had no laser core he could access, no centralized, measurable spark for him to work with.  And in Wheeljack, he’d not been able to locate the invading code or wavelengths that had woven themselves into the engineer’s.  It frustrated the medic to no end, but more’s the point, it _worried_ him.  For both their sakes, Cybertronian and human alike.

Ratchet shook his head, having to remind himself again not to blame the human for what had happened or what this might do to his best friend.  “Have you at least talked to him?”

Beth had just tossed her backpack into her car, which Sparkplug and Spike had repaired for her.  She was straightening when he asked the question, and he saw her pause stiffly.  Then her shoulders dropped, and she shook her head.  “What’s there to talk about?”  Another brief pause, then she huffed and turned to look up again, and Ratchet could see _her_ frustration with things . . . and her fear.  “Ratchet, just because I kinda know my way around the average computer doesn’t make me a computer whiz, okay?  Nor am I an MIT double chemist and electronics expert.  Hell, I’m not even a decent mechanic!”  She waved an arm at her vehicle, a humble little ten-year-old Subaru Justy hatchback.  “I’d love to learn to fix my own car, and one of these days I’ll look into taking some night classes or something.  I mean . . . okay, I’ve generally learned to guess _what’s_ wrong with a car at least half the time – like a slipping belt or if it’s dropped its tranny-”

“Dropped its . . . ?”

“Transmission’s quit.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve had _two_ cars do that on me – _my_ last car, and the service van my boss at my last job was letting me borrow until I could get a new one.”

“But knowing what’s wrong and knowing how to repair it are two different things.”

Beth nodded.  “Spike and Carly, Sparkplug, Chip . . . I can see _them_ staying here.  But me?  I’m not of any use to you guys.  I’d just get in the way.  I mean . . . come on, you’re, like, four times taller than me, six zillion times stronger and heavier . . . all we’d have to do is move wrong around each other, and I’d be a bloody pulp while you’d barely notice.”

“Beth, it’s not like we aren’t used to being a little careful.  Sparkplug and Spike have been living here almost as long as we’ve been awake, and Chip not long after that.  And Carly comes by often enough that we’ve even built _her_ her own apartment here.”  Of which Beth was well aware, he knew, since she had been recharging on Carly’s sofa.  “Humans at an extremely young age are about as small to you in comparison, aren’t they?  Do you have so much trouble not knocking down a . . . what’s it called, ‘toddler’? . . . if there’s one in the room?”

Her gaze dropped to his leg, a point on his thigh just a bit above his knee that was level with her line of sight.  “That’s . . . ”  She sighed.  “That’s not the _point_ , Ratchet.”  She looked up at him.  “I’d only be a liability if I stick around here.  I have health issues, and I can’t contribute anythi-!”

Ratchet watched her flinch, at what he couldn’t guess . . . until Wheeljack came into view at the doorway.  He finally seemed to have lost what Carly had dubbed his "puppy dog look".  Whatever had affected him before had finally worn off . . . though it hadn't taken the sparkbond with it.  Ratchet knew his best friend was trying to make the most of what had happened.  Right now, he looked genuinely upset.  "Beth, don't talk like that!"

Beth shifted to look up at him. "Jack..."

Ratchet watched his best friend cross to her, careful not to damage her car as he reached down over it to gently scoop her into his hands.  Beth didn't protest, even shifted to climb onto his palm.  The medic shook his head.  "You two sure _move_ like you know each other well enough."

Wheeljack glanced up at him, optics softening in a manner the medic knew to read as "sheepish", before turning his attention to his sparkbond.  "Beth, you're _not_ a liability.  Everyone has _somethin'_ ta contribute.  We just haven't found yours yet.  But we will.  I'm sure of it!"

Beth shifted uncomfortably, gaze down.  "I don't know."

"Can we at least _talk_ before ya leave?"

"Yeah . . . yeah, okay."

Ratchet was glad the human agreed.  He figured she owed Wheeljack that much at least.  Wheeljack looked up at him again, excusing himself and the human, but Ratchet just waved them off.  This was something he felt was long overdue.

 

8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8

 

Wheeljack made his way back to his workshop, the human who was now his sparkbonded still cradled in his hands.  Neither said anything, and the bond was quiet between them.  The engineer had "pulled back" a little mentally, trying to get his thoughts together, and he suspected Beth might be doing the same.

Slipping through the door, he closed it behind them and activated the "Do Not Disturb" glyphs that normally meant he was deep in work.  He crossed to the nearest table, swept aside the leftover detritus of his last project, and set Beth gingerly on her feet.  He pulled over a stool, then thought to grab a box for Beth to sit on before settling himself.  The human settled, visibly stiff and uncertain, her gaze on her hands folded in her lap.

Beth was the first to speak.  "Look, Jack, I . . . I just can't see this working."

The words twisted the engineer's spark in its chamber, but he knew she was only just as confused and nervous as he was about the whole thing.  He couldn't blame her for her doubts and insecurities.  Frankly . . . he shared them.  "We don't know that yet."

She looked up with a caustic arch to her eyebrows.  "Really?"

He was an alien mechanoid being, hundreds of _thousands_ of times older than she was, and would outlive her by another several thousand years or more easily.  He was in a militant faction that was at war with another very powerful faction, and she had no way she could possibly think of to be anything but a distraction and a liability to him.  There was just no way this could end in anything but heartache.  For both of them.

Wheeljack read all of that and more from her end of the bond . . . and he wanted nothing more than to scoop her back up again and snug her to his shoulder until those fears were allayed for good.   But he knew things just didn't work that way, and he couldn't be sure if the impulse was his own or an effect of whatever had overcome him the other day.

No . . . no, that wasn't true.  Whatever had happened had left Beth unaffected (except for the formation of the bond and all that went with it) but had _very much_ affected him.  But it had also finally released him. He could _tell_ that he was no longer "under the influence" as it were, the only lasting effects being the "damage" of the sparkbond itself.

Wheeljack had never wanted to sparkbond with anyone.  He recognized the sanctity of the relationship that others experienced, but because of his own background, he just . . . couldn't contemplate doing any such thing to himself or another person he cared about.  Even just the act of "mere" melding with another was too much to consider, as the very thought of it invoked only fear, domination, invasion, violation in his spark.  Humans had a term for what he'd been through – in English, they called it "rape".  From Beth's mind when they bonded and she learned his history, he got a more refined phrase – "gang rape".  He thought that it fit . . . and it explained why he had never taken a bonding partner, and why he got so adamant to the contrary when people assumed he and Ratchet were bonded just because they were such close friends.

But now . . . now he _was_ bonded, and there was no way to undo it.  And . . . he wasn't sure he wanted to.  As much as it scared him, he found it was also kind of nice having that constant presence in the back of his mind and spark, one that he knew wouldn't try to hurt him.  It was comforting in a way he'd never anticipated.  Plus . . . he liked her.  He'd gotten to know her _more_ than well enough through the sparkbond to know that already.

"Listen . . . at least give it a chance?  It'd be nothin' ta build another apartment an' bring all your stuff here.  Ya _wouldn't_ be in our way, an' the only way you'd really be a distraction would be me worryin' about ya because you _weren't_ here.  Vista's kinda a long way away from here, Beth.  Even if I ignored your country's traffic laws, it'd take me two hours or more ta get to ya if ya needed me.  Powerglide could get to ya sooner, or maybe Skyfire, but still..."  He shook his head.  "Here at the Ark is probably the safest place.  An' nobody's useless.  We'll just hafta find somethin' for ya ta-"

He stopped as a thought came to him.  Beth was a writer.  He'd learned this from the bond.  So much of his people's culture and history had been lost over the ages, destroyed by the war that had decimated everything.  Maybe . . . maybe she could help begin to rebuild some of that.  They could all tell their stories, those who cared to.  But none of them were writers, really, and few of them had the time to undertake that kind of project anyway.

Before he could ask, Beth was already nodding her head.  Of _course_ he didn't need to ask.  She knew his spark, and he knew hers.  It was both a scary and comforting thought.

"Yeah, I . . . I could do that.  Could try, anyway.  I'd be honored."

"Thanks."  This time, Wheeljack didn't resist the urge to pick her up, thankful that she truly didn't mind at all.  She was as huggy and touch-friendly as he was.  "We're gonna be okay.  Just watch.  We'll work this out."

Beth draped herself up onto his shoulder, wrapping her arms as far around his neck as she could reach, head tucked under the bottom edge of his vocal flange.  "Thanks, Wheeljack.  I know you kind of don't have a choice, but . . . thanks for having me."

"Don't mention it."  Wheeljack wrapped his hands around his new sparkbond, enveloping her almost completely.  Head tilting, he tucked over her, engine revving softly, content to just sit like this for a while.


	3. Surreal

Author’s Note: For the most part, I'll be avoiding Beth's POV – you guys care about giant robots, not self-inserts, right? XD Once in a while, though, it can't be helped. This is one of them. Enjoy! 8D

Disclaimer – “Transformers” and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Hasbro, Takara, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

“Snapshots”  
by DragonDancer5150

 

Chapter 3 – Surreal

 

_Twilight Zone.  That's what this is.  It's gotta be!  Rod, where're you hiding?_

_Come out, come out, wherever you are!_

Beth looked up and down the street – not that she _actually_ expected to see Rod Sterling (except in a sense she almost _did_ ) – then turned her attention back to the . . . "moving van" parked in front of her apartment complex.  The silver trailer's customary logos had been covered with signs that advertised "Stan & Son Moving Company".  Similar signs had been mounted on the doors of the fire-truck-red Freightliner cab-over tractor.  The tractor sat silently on the street, engine off.  The way it had been maneuvered into the apartment complex, so that the back end faced the right building, the front end had wound up facing one of the small parking areas.  A bright yellow classic Volkswagen Beetle had been backed into one of the parking spaces and seemed to be facing the truck.

Beth wondered if they were secretly talking to each other.

She looked around at the various cars sitting in the clusters of parking spaces scattered between and around the apartment buildings and wondered if she'd ever look at _any_ vehicle quite the same way again.

"Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do," she sang softly to herself as she carried the box in her arms into the back of the trailer.

Beth was no stranger to moving.  Having been an Air Force brat, she'd lived more places before her father's retirement when she was sixteen than most adults would ever _visit_ in their lifetimes – New Mexico, Mississippi, Illinois (twice), the Island of Guam where her younger brother had been born, even Germany for four years.  Once back in Southern California, her family moved from living with her grandparents while her father job-hunted and everyone adjusted from military to civilian life, to living in a home they rented, to sliding down the street and around the corner to the home her parents now owned.  When she married, she and her husband moved around apartment complexes as necessitated by fluctuations in rent and income.  Then, her husband had taken a job that moved them both clear across country to Georgia.  The most recent move, returning once again to sunny San Diego shortly after the divorce, had been right before certain giant robots had begun to make their presence known around the country and the world.  Beth had moved more than enough times to know how to pack a box, a suitcase, a car, a moving truck.

Except when she knew that the moving truck had a mind of its own.  Literally.  It made walking into the trailer, knowing that the trailer was _watching her_ , a rather creepy experience, if she were honest with herself.  She tried to ignore the massive, floor-mounted armature – she thought it must be a weapon of some kind – that was folded up at the front end of the trailer, as well as the little six-wheeled vehicle that looked like it belonged on a moon lander.

"Hey, you okay?"

Beth jumped, shifting around.  Chip Chase lifted a box off his lap to set on top of a pile of other boxes.  Beth wondered how he managed to find the upper core strength in that skinny body of his to keep driving his wheelchair up and down the ramp over and over again.  She herself was managing without her cane for now, but she knew she'd be paying for today by the time they quit later.

"I . . . uh . . . yeah.  Yeah, I'm, I'm fine."  She couldn't help the furtive glance around at the walls, though she couldn't have said what she was looking for.

"It's Optimus, isn't it?"  Chip had a small, understanding grin on his face when Beth looked back at him.

She flinched, glancing around again.  She didn't want the ancient being to be offended or something.  "No!  No, really, it's . . . it's fine . . . "

Chip snickered.  "Optimus?"

"Yes, Chip?"  The deep, resonant voice filled the space of the trailer, quiet enough to not likely be heard outside of it even with the back open.  It still made Beth flinch.

"I think Beth's afraid she's imposing on you."

Beth thought she understood what Chip was doing – trying to be helpful by facilitating a conversation that would ultimately put her more at ease with this situation.  She still had to resist the urge to toss him a minor glare before . . . well, staring at the ceiling in the direction of the voice, since she didn't have a face to look at.  "It's not that.  It's just..."

Okay, no, actually, it was _exactly_ that.  Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots – in Wheeljack's estimation, the greatest leader his kind had ever known – ancient and powerful being older than her whole race . . . was playing at being a _moving van_.  For her, of all people.  A week ago, she could only daydream about meeting the Autobots.  She had about as much chance as meeting the President.  Today, she was _moving in with them_.  And Optimus Prime was her freaking moving van.

"I just . . . wanted to say thanks.  Again.  For doing this.  I know it's kind of a little late for it, but . . . you didn't have to."

"I know.  I wanted to."

She couldn't tell if she was only imagining the "welcome to the family" vibe in his tone or not.

The tune started playing in her head again.

_Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do . . ._

 

 


End file.
